Our fourth stop had no incidents. Three snakes as large as the one we fought were spotted in the distance, but they paid us no mind. Tuuk was no longer allowed to be on the night’s watch considering yesterday, and those that took the role remained vigilant to avoid a repeat of last night. We make it to the fifth landmark: a mud island from which a shallow bog could be observed. In the morning, Jambo jumps some sixty feet into the air to scout our location.

“Jambo can confirm the yellow grass is just up ahead. About a few hours walk, but Jambo can say nothing of what is under the treeline,” he reports. At his back was a bone-white spear hewn from the fang of the prior python.

Indeed, more trees were present here as well as more solid land. According to Mago and Gebo, we could use a lily pad for a fair amount before it turned into straight mud. We were to all tie ourselves together with rope because the land could possibly be rife with quicksand. Everyone also was given a bouquet of cattails, reeds, herbs, and dried branches melded together with some form of tree sap. When lit, it would serve as a smokescreen against the mosquitoes present in the area.

“Is everyone clear on the plan?” confirms Mago.

All agree. Anticipation and excitement flit around my belly like butterflies.

“Clear as the blue sky,” I reply.

~~~

Walking through the mud, one word comes to mind to best describe the experience: Cake. Mud caked inside of my boots the moment I took my first step. Ten minutes in, a submerged branch caused me to trip and smear my face in a thick layer of brown frosting. Before long, the mud’s consistency made me think we were traversing a giant’s tray of uncooked batter. I could feel the muck pulling away my strength as we kneaded our footsteps across its surface. Worst of all, the heat of the exercise mixed with the humidity beat down on me like an oven.

Thinking of such things, my stomach begins to growl loud enough for everyone to hear. The rest turn to look at me. Front to back is Mago, Tuuk, Gebo, Jambo, Me, Kigo, Gando, Daru, and finally Rouk at the back acting as an anchor if ever we get caught in quicksand. Being in the middle, everyone hears me.

“Is Abra hungry?” Kigo asks behind me. “Kigo has a bag of crickets you can have as a snack.”

At the mention of bugs, the growling stops, and my appetite disappears.

Giving Kigo the best smile I can muster, I decline, “No thanks. This is just exhausting is all.”

Mago turns to me, “I know Abra is an odd one, but humans I know eat three times. Not once. Just tell us when you want a break.”

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I nod. Looking at the Grouak’s around me, none of them seem to be as tired as I am. In fact, I’m the only one sinking into the mud. Their webbed feet spread their weight evenly enough they remain buoyant. If it weren’t for the ropes we were tied to, I would have been going at a much slower pace.

That said, I pull out snake jerky from my back and begin munching on it as we walk. Thanks to my study habits during my academy days, I’d grown accustomed to only eating one big meal a day and subsisting on that until the next. Escyra always got on my case for that, but who knew it would work out so well living with the Grouaks? The dried jerky begins to lose taste in my mouth the more I think of her and the past.

My foot gets caught in a rather deep patch of mud that forms a suction up to my knee rendering me almost immobile. Jambo and Kigo both tug at their ropes to pull me out. If Escyra and I were to trade places right now, she would have likely made herself mud boots using sticks and lily pads or something to widen her feet’s surface area.

While reminiscing, I walk into Jambo without noticing. The entire group had stopped. At our front, Mago is holding up a clenched fist signaling us to stop while Tuuk has his ear to the ground. We all fall silent.

Tuuk’s eyes then go wide as he grabs Mago’s rope and jerks him backwards. Just as he does, a claw—red as crimson—narrowly misses clipping Mago’s face.

“Back! Back! All run back!” Tuuk shouts.

Following his instructions, we all reverse. In his panic, Daru slips pulling Gando and Kigo down with him with a wet slap. I only manage to stand because I saw their domino begin and braced myself.

Emerging from the mud where we once were are two cylindrical crimson claws, long red antennae, bulbous black eyes, and a mouth inlaid with miniature clawed appendages.

My first thought is a giant shrimp, but Kigo contradicts me by shouting, “DRAAGGOOON!!”

Indeed, the giant emerging from the muck fit Tuuk’s description of what the Grouaks called ‘dragons’. Looking closer, the ‘dragon’ was flailing about and appeared to be unable to go higher than its head. The solid looking mud sucked at the shrimp’s neck and rippled like water as it swung its arms and mouth appendages wildly. It was stuck in quicksand.

Mago gets to his feet panting, “Thank you Tuuk. Grab your spears! It may be stuck dragons pose danger no matter what!”

As if to prove Mago’s point, the sound of rushing air—like a deep inhalation—could be heard from the giant shrimp before shockwaves and blasts of air explode from the claws.

One blast flies straight up but the second runs parallel to the ground a few yards left of Mago leaving a twenty foot long indentation in the mud. The shrimp in its desperation to be free begins blasting at the mud. The force of the blasts sends pressure I can feel deep in my chest.

Mago aims his spear, “The mouth! The shell is too hard but the mouth is soft. Aim there!”

Mago lets loose his spear and its gets lodged around the shrimp’s mouthparts. Due to its erratic movements, he misses the critical point by a few inches. Daru has a clear miss, same as Jambo. Rouk as well misses the mark and slams against the shrimp’s head. The wooden spear splinters into a thousand pieces but the translucent pink shell clearly reveals some internal bleeding. It isn’t enough to bring down the beast.

The orange frog in front of me steps up, “L-let Kigo try something.”

He takes a deep breath and the spear in his hand elongates to a length of about three yards. It looks like a comical pole compared to his size. The muscles in his arm swing forward and with a flick of his wrist, I watch as the spear’s back end elastically compresses to meet the front end several feet away. Compressed to only a few inches in length in such a short time, Kigo’s spear accelerates forward in a blur.

The shrimp simultaneously prepares another air cannon. The vacuum of air causes the compacted spear to veer towards the cylindrical claw and cause the tip to burst into flesh and shell fireworks.

“SHOOOOOOOOHHH!” high pitched gusts of air escape the shrimp’s mouth as it reels from the pain.

Not wanting to be dead weight and envigored by my student’s creativity, I rack my brain for ideas. At this rate, the Grouak’s are either going to run out of spears or be blasted to bits by a well-placed claw cannon from the dragon/shrimp. Its toothless mouth is covered by appendages. Well trained hunters were unable to hit their mark amidst the restrained flailing. I needed something accurate. Lobbing fire wasn’t going to cut it. Wind would have the speed but lack the force to kill. The concentration I needed for earth and water manipulation was too great to do anything at a distance so that was out of the question. Think.

Kigo accelerated his spear linearly by compressing it down its shaft. He gave it a path. A path… My inner voice trails off as I imagine a trail of oil leading along a flame.

I clench my fists. There was only one way I would get the concentration to do something like that. A technique I considered forbidden for any self-respecting mage to indulge in, yet it was taught profusely at the academy. A bastardization of what I believed to be the true essence of magic.

“DOWN!”

I’m not sure who shouted, but all of us drop either intentionally or because we got pulled by the rope. An explosion rings, and a hot rush of air itches against my scalp.

I had no choice. Swallowing my pride, I hold out my hands and begin to chant. Time slows down, “Oh essence of the wind, heed this humble mage’s plea and become a fuse to feed the flame of mine soul, and bind betwixt my hands the fate of mine foe and let them taste the flames of pure fury…INESCAPABLE INFERNO!”

As I chant, I send mana spiraling towards the dragon shrimp in a thin line, like a fishing rod. It twists and turns as my concentration wanes, but saying the words helps me visualize the path until I feel it connect with the shrimp. Then, the air rapidly compresses around the mana, creating a vacuum with a hollow line of air at its center. Power—and shame—wells within me as the oration aids in my visualization of the magic. As soon as the hollow point vacuum forms, I create a white flame at the end facing me. Just a small ember is enough.

The moment the flame contacts the compressed air, it runs along the vacuum eating at the only fuel it has access to. Since I used my mana to create the tunnel, the flame grows and grows as it snakes through air following the curved path. Blisters begin to form at my fingertips as the heat of my hand begins to match the heat of the flame.

White flame impacts the dragon shrimp and arcs down its throat. The smell of burning flesh fills the air as it’s cooked from the inside. I cut the magic and shove my hands straight into the cold mud. Black and white spots form in my eyes due the pain. My palms would likely need heavy bandaging afterwards. The entire chant and release took no more than ten seconds total, but the recoil of using such a complex spell was very high.

Staring up at the shrimp, it lay inert and sank slowly into the mud. My flames had cooked the head so much that the meat was bursting from the back of its head and the cracks Rouk had slammed into its face.

The Grouaks stare at me with both awe and fear.

Kigo rushes over to me and clasps my hands in his, “Abra teach Kigo how to do that!” His eyes couldn’t sparkle any more if he tried.

“Aaaaaaaaah,” through gritted teeth I hiss at the pain of him pressing my hands together.

“Oh, oops,” apologetically Kigo lets go and backs away.

Gando comes to me with what looks like a pouch and gauze saying, “Show Gando your palms.”

With no reason to refuse, I comply.

Flipping them over, the mud has been significantly dried out from the latent heat. The mud peels off easy to reveal patches of red tissue where my skin had burned off.

Gando reaches down and collects a handful of mud. From his pouch, he produces a white powder which he kneads together with the mud. He then applies it to my hands. On contact, the pain subsides. Seeing my expression calm, Gando smiles and begins wrapping them with the gauze.

“Abra was smart putting their hands in the mud straight after the burn. Mud cools and protects the skin.” He holds up his pouch of white powder as he explains, “Grinded leech teeth. You know well how strong this is at numbing pain.”

“It’s almost as if it happened the other day,” I pause, “oh wait it did.”

“KEH-HEH-HEH,” Gando laughs, “Funny. Funny is good.” He reaches into his larger pack and pulls out what looks like a yellowish plant root and places it in my hands. “Leech teeth takes away the pain. The mud will protect your skin but,” he says gesturing to the swamp around us, “that does not mean the mud is clean. Cut a piece of the snakeroot and boil it before every meal and drink. It will make your body stronger than any poison snake or poison mud.”

Deciphering his words, he likely meant an infection. When I slammed my hands into the mud I didn’t think twice about the possible demerits. My hands were burning, and it was the coldest thing around.

“Yes Dr. Gando,” I say teasingly.

“No, Gando is not a proper healer. Gando just had to learn after that one,” he points to Jambo, “keeps getting hurt by things.”

Jambo retorts in defense, “Hey! That last time Jambo landed on a tree was only because a croc appeared where Jambo was going to land, so Jambo had to improvise.”

The banter between weathered allies leads me to laugh. I’m grateful my companions are so reliable.

“Ahem,” Mago clears his throat once we finish, “we all lived, but a dragon should not be here. Besides, if you look…” Mago points towards the head of the shrimp. It was missing the poison horn Tuuk told me about. “…it is missing the dragon’s crest. That can only mean the dragon fought something.”

In the corner of my eye, Rouk tenses up.

“Also, dragons are never alone, we must watch out for more. It is also strange that no suckers are here,” he says while turning to Gebo and Tuuk.

Gebo responds, “Yes, Papa, I am sure it was only suckers here. Me, Jambo and Tuuk saw them with our own eyes. There should be a nest.”

Jambo nods in agreement.

Tuuk on the other hand, shouts, “WHAAAAAAAT? TUUK CANNOT HEAR YOU. PLEASE SPEAK LOUDER.”

He is cupping his ears and has some blood coming out his nose. Amid the fight to subdue the dragon shrimp, I’d completely forgotten about Tuuk’s fatal weakness to loud noises. He was already bothered by Jambo’s loud jumps, I could only imagine what the constant rings of the shrimp’s claws did to him.

Mago clicks his tongue, “Mago forgot.” He turns to us, “From here on, we walk with care. Tuuk is injured and we no longer see far ahead. Jambo, no jumping. If there are suckers, you will tell them where we are.”

“Rrribit,” he says.

We skirt around the quicksand and find the footprints marked the shrimp’s final moments before being swallowed. It ran semi-adjacent to our path, and we essentially followed it as we curved around mangroves and large rocks that started to become more frequent. Eventually we spend more time maneuvering around roots than we do truding through mud. I sneak occasional glances at Rouk who wears a heavy look on his face. I recall Tuuk’s story on the boat.

We reach a clearing in the trees, and I smell it before I see it. Bile forms in my throat that I barely hold back, and tears well in my eyes. A few steps forward to peek around the roots and I see green mucus splattered against the trees. More can be seen collecting in large pools on the mud’s surface. Next to the mucus, or rather dotted around it, are large black bodies with spindly legs and black proboscises flipped on their backs. Giant Mosquitoes. Approximately an entire swarm of them and what I can only assume are their eggs lay dead. I spot crushed wings, snapped piercers, and even some that still twitch with their final death throes.

At the center of it all, a pink bird with an unnaturally long neck roosts. All of us stand frozen before it. The body is easily the size of two large bears, and the neck extends high in the air even while bent. Yellow eyes turn their gaze towards our group. We weren’t silent at all—the mud saw to that. Opening its light pink beak, the Flame Swan arches its neck and roars.